A Wrongful Death (17 page)

"You bet. It's going to be a tricky statement to make," she said. "I haven't told Hoggarth a single fib or dodged a pertinent question to date, but now? Oh boy, will I have to dance around things."

"We'll rein him in." Then, more grimly, he said, "Bobby, if they're having you watched, and we have to assume they are, this is going to be a tip-off, to have you met and escorted to the post office. We have to assume they'll suspect you mailed the documents, but they won't know where or to whom."

"We have to assume a couple more things, as well," she said, equally grim. "Whoever is behind this isn't hesitant to spend big bucks on a bunch of detectives, we know that. We have to assume they'll find out as soon as anyone gets in touch with the right lawyers and prosthetic experts. But once they know the research papers are in the hands of a law firm, and/or experts in the field, I think the program will change. I doubt they'll worry much about me any longer. They can make a case that Elizabeth stole the papers with extortion in mind and that they were Joe Kurtz's work, his research, as the first trial determined. The only one they'll really have to worry about is Jefferson Knowlton. No one else has a claim on that research."

He gazed at the fire and shook his head. "You're going to bring the whole roof down. If what Brice Knowlton said is correct, the Diedricks' attorneys maligned, mocked and smeared his father, and broke him. Don't expect any better treatment when they come after you. And "he added, "I have no doubt that you're going to be charged with making false statements to the local investigators, the state and the FBI, and that makes it a federal offense. You've told them all that Elizabeth never talked to you, except for that one phone call, and if they can trace that research documentation to you, they'll decide that's a lie. Make the return address on the envelope mine at the office. I'll hold them off for a time by declaring the papers came in anonymously."

He hadn't said /if/ they came after her, she reflected; he had said /when/, and that was exactly right. The first hint of the approaching storm had already come when Sarah Kurtz was quoted suggesting that Frank's influence had intervened with the police in their questioning of her. The barometer was on its way down, she thought then, storm warning out. Get on your dancing shoes, she added to herself, for when they come back with more questions. Including her trip to Las Vegas? Probably.

"I'll tell them I went down to Vegas to make some Christmas shopping money on the slots," she said. He grinned slightly; they were still on the same track, she thought, and that was followed swiftly by another thought, one of appreciation. He had not suggested that she should get out of this mess any way she could. He knew she had to get the research papers, that she had to take on Elizabeth Kurtz — even if that could never be acknowledged publicly. He accepted as much as she did that there was no way to extricate herself from a situation she had not looked for, had not wanted, but found herself in. She knew the best advice was that if you found yourself in a hole to stop digging, but there were times, she also knew, when the only way out was to keep digging.

Chapter 16

Going down the escalator in the Eugene airport on Monday night Barbara scanned the people waiting below. Frank had insisted on taking her to the airport despite her objections, and he had said he would be there when she returned. She didn't see him, but to her surprise she spotted Bailey leaning against a wall, back from the others, who were moving forward as passengers descended. Then, to her greater surprise, she also saw Alan McCagno holding a hand-lettered sign with the name Rogers on it. He was Bailey's best operative. His gaze met hers and moved on without a sign of recognition and she realized that he was working and did not acknowledge him, either. As she walked forward with the rest of the passengers, Bailey stirred and came toward her.

"Why aren't you in San Diego?" she demanded as he reached for her carry-on.

"You have more than this?" he asked. "No. That's it."

"Good. Ready to go?"

"You bet." They walked from the terminal and across the access road without speaking, and he motioned toward the parking lot. "Over there."

He had brought his SUV. That was another surprise since he very rarely used it in town. After they were seated and buckled in, she repeated her question, "Why are you still here? You should be in San Diego."

"It's this way," he said, starting to drive. "Hannah's cousins from Kansas decided to spend the holidays in California, and along with the rest of her family it becomes too much. Yakking all day and night, and teetotalers, most of them, and those who aren't off alcohol tend to be real boozers, and there's always a brawl, so I said I'd come along later."

He was keeping an eye on the rear view mirror and making it easy for anyone who might be following. "Is Alan part of your changed plans?" she asked, resisting the impulse to look behind them. "And a Mr. Rogers?"

"You got it. Just trying to peg the guys. Not local, but maybe Portland or Seattle, or who knows? Anyway, they had two guys watching for you in Vegas. Busy little bees, aren't they?"

"Bailey, you won't be able to get a flight out," she said in a low voice. "They're booked solid this week."

In the same slow speed he drew in at the tollbooth, paid the parking fee and drove from the parking area on to the Airport Road. Car after car passed them.

"Wrongo," he said. "Know the best day to fly over the holidays? Christmas Day. No problem at all. And our return is still on for Tuesday. No sweat."

They turned onto Highway 99 heading toward town and at that time of night the road was almost deserted. "There he goes," he said after a minute or two as another car passed theirs. "He'll dawdle and I'll pass him in another block or two. Wanna bet?"

She didn't. The other car was slowing at the next intersection, as if the driver was trying to read a street sign, and Bailey passed him. "Back in parade formation, "he said soon after that. A few minutes later he turned off at Roosevelt instead of taking the more direct route, then at Blair he turned again, this time going to Fifth Avenue to complete the trip. He didn't turn at Monroe, which would have taken them to her apartment, but kept going.

"Where now?" she asked.

"Your dad's place. Orders. Our guy is hanging right in there, back two blocks, probably wondering where the hell we're going.

"And Alan?"

"Oh, he's around," Bailey said. "See, the game plan is for me to go in with you, and eventually our guy will either settle in for the night, or he'll take off, and if he takes off, Alan will be there. This guy is pretty good, but Alan's better, and he knows every alley and driveway in town, to say nothing of the streets. Just want to know where that guy's going, how many there are, little things like that. Figured he wasn't likely to tell us. Just doing the best we can."

"You're spending the night at Dad's house?" she asked.

"Yep. Turned off the water heater at our place. Hannah won't leave it on if we're taking off for more than two days. Frugal or something. Your dad said I could hang out awhile."

"Right," she said. Hang out and guard her, she thought miserably, at least until those damn research papers were in the safe, or in some other attorney's hands. If she had driven to the airport alone, she wondered, would this return home trip have been so uneventful? Or if her driver were her father, a man in his seventies? No doubt they knew by now that Bailey was a private investigator, not an amateur easily intimidated.

Earlier that day when Bailey showed up, Frank had been as surprised as Barbara was later. "What's up?" he asked.

"Just thought you should know that my pal in Vegas said two locals were waiting for her, and that they're not nice people. She never would have gotten to the post office with whatever she was carrying. My pal and his associate changed the equation, so that part's done. But maybe she should have a couple of escorts when her plane gets in, just in case. You know. Insurance."

"How did they know?"

"Five minutes on the Internet, all it takes. Anyway, I can't stand some of Hannah's relatives. Rather be here."

Bailey didn't ask any questions, he rarely did, but Frank gestured toward a chair and proceeded to tell him what was going on. He always said they shouldn't hold out on Bailey if they expected him to do his job. They never did. Bailey whistled softly when Frank finished. "Big bucks "he said. "Real big bucks."

That night when they entered the house, Bailey nodded in satisfaction. "Like clockwork," he said. "He's out there."

Frank embraced Barbara. "Did you win at the slots?"

"Eight dollars. I'll hit the Dollar Store for my shopping spree."

After Bailey had gone up to the guest room, and Barbara up to take a bath and prepare for bed, Frank sat in his study for a time. He repeated Bailey's words under his breath, "Big bucks."

On his desk was that morning's newspapers, and again the story of the murder of Elizabeth Kurtz was making headlines, not on the front page this time, but on the front page of local news. Along with a plea for the return of Jason Kurtz, now with a reward of twenty-five thousand dollars for information leading to his recovery. But, worst of all, the smear campaign was in full swing. According to a reliable source, Elizabeth and Leonora Carnero had had a stormy lesbian relationship, with vicious fights over Jason, over money, jealousy. The same source had no doubt that Elizabeth and Barbara Holloway had met in that isolated cabin with an equally stormy relationship, that probably Elizabeth had fled from Barbara herself. There had been more along that same line. Well, he reflected, Barbara would learn about the article soon enough. Let her get a good night's sleep first, then hit the ceiling.

The article was not unexpected, he thought, but at lunch-time that day Darren Halvord's visit had been. He had come carrying a Christmas cactus in full bloom.

"An early present," he said at the door, holding out the plant.

"Come on in," Frank said. "It's a beauty. Thank you." He suspected that Darren had stopped at a supermarket and bought it for an excuse to drop in.

"Frank, is there anything I can do?" Darren asked.

"Join me for lunch," Frank said, turning back to the kitchen where he had been heating leftover soup. "Yesterday's soup, but it's better the second day. Always make enough to last most of the coming week, it just gets better."

He already had a baguette on the cutting board in the dinette, and now put a second place setting on the table. "Want to wash your hands? It's just about ready."

Over steaming chicken vegetable soup, he'd said, "Guess the answer to your question is probably not. She stumbled into a real mess that's going to take some maneuvering to get out of, but we're working on it."

Darren broke off a piece of bread, put it down. "How's she taking it? That article?"

"She hasn't seen it yet. She'll blow when she does."

"I'd like to strangle that reliable source," Darren said bitterly.

"Well, hold your fire. It could get worse before it gets better."

Darren turned to gaze out the window. "She's on the tightrope again, isn't she?"

"Well, we do have a situation on our hands."

"I'd better get back to the clinic," Darren said. He had eaten very little.

"Darren, why don't you and Todd come over for dinner on Christmas Eve? No presents, just home folk and food."

"Todd's going to be at his mother's for Christmas Eve, my place Christmas Day."

"All the more reason. Don't sit in that house alone on Christmas Eve, too depressing."

Darren hesitated, his broad face betraying both yearning and resolve. "I told her I wouldn't bring any pressure while... She has a decision to make. She'd think it was pressure."

"Son, this is my house, my dinner I'm planning and I invite whom I please. At the moment that's you."

Abruptly Darren's features relaxed and he grinned. "You're on. Thanks. I'll bring wine or something."

"Or nothing. My idea at this time of year is to stay as far from any retail establishment as I possibly can, and that includes wine aisles in markets." He got up to walk to the door with him.

Darren had paused there. "You know I don't have a thing to offer her except to be there, a safety net or something if she ever falls from that high wire."

Sitting at his desk, Frank replayed that little scene, then cursed softly. What Darren had to offer was the world's riches. He would always be there for her, if she'd open her eyes and let it happen.

The cats were prowling about restlessly, the way they did when it was past bedtime. "Okay, fellows," Frank said, turning off his desk lamp. "Let's go." They raced him to the bedroom door.

All three settled down, the cats at his feet, purring at first, then snoring gently. It was a long time before Frank drifted off. He kept thinking of the incident on their hands and what an ungodly mess it was, and the likelihood it could get worse. He shifted and the cats complained, then shifted also. When he realized he was going through the possible ways it could get worse, he shifted again, and determinedly began to plan the coming year's garden.

Chapter 17

"Where's Bailey?" Barbara asked the following morning when she joined Frank for breakfast. "Has he heard anything from Alan yet?

"In my study, on the phone, checking with Alan at this very moment," Frank said grumpily. "And good morning to you, too."

"Oh. Good morning, Dad. Today, after I introduce you to our — your — new client, I want to see Hoggarth. But I don't want to lead a pack of goons to Elizabeth. Bailey work."

"I have to see Patsy first thing," Frank said, pouring coffee. "After that, Leonora Carnero. And let's call her that — and nothing else — until this is settled. What's on your mind for Hoggarth?"

"I want to cut a deal with him," she said with a grin. "He'll love it."

"You're going to give that man a heart attack," Frank muttered. "I'm going to put on an omelette," he said as Bailey slouched into the kitchen. "Help yourself to coffee."

Looking as gloomy as usual, Bailey poured coffee, and took a chair at the table. "Three guys," he said. "Holed up in a motel suite, kitchenette kind of place." He looked out the window and looked even gloomier. It was raining. "Our pal hung around until nearly two and took off for home base. Pal number two is on the job this morning. Alan says if you want them taken out of the frame, let him know. He'll put a couple pounds of dope in their room and call the cops or something."